


Roughhousing

by Tub



Series: Kyla: Red Light Series [4]
Category: Dungeons & Dragons (Roleplaying Game), Original Work
Genre: Anal Sex, M/M, Oral Sex, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Rough Sex, Sparring
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-11
Updated: 2019-02-11
Packaged: 2019-10-26 05:50:57
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,938
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17740172
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Tub/pseuds/Tub
Summary: Tosa and Staldar take up sparring. After spending a little time apart, one sparring match gets a little heated.(Non-canonical)





	Roughhousing

 

As promised, Staldar and Tosa take up sparring on a regular basis in the improvised training space of the Red Hand headquarters. Between their individual duties, making and revising of plans, and other tasks, Staldar looks forward to these sessions. As much as he treats it as serious training, he can't help but feel like it is a form of play or sport, a break from their usual minutia. However, Tosa and Staldar’s schedules conflict for a time, and they see little of each other. Staldar becomes antsy, on tenterhooks looking forward to their next meeting after several days apart.

 

They develop a routine, meeting on the training floor, going about their independent preparations for their match, then discussing the terms of the fight, what skills they want to build. Often they accrue a small audience, gathering around (and quietly taking bets) to observe. Something about this spurs on a sense of friendly competition, each determined to subdue the other.

 

Staldar is going through his customary warm-ups, dressed only in sturdy breaches, half way through a set of push ups, when he feels a sudden weight drop onto his back, almost causing him to buckle. With a grunt and a heave, he manages to maintain his pace, breathing hard.

 

“Impressive! Now do it with one hand behind your back,” Tosa goads, seated in the arch of his spine.

 

“You're just,  _ hng,  _ trying to,  _ rgh,  _ wear me out,  _ guh,  _ because you need,  _ ngh,  _ an advantage!”

 

“An advantage he says! As if I need one, old man.”

 

A bark of laughter erupts from Staldar, then he abruptly tilts his back so the drow is forced to dismount, rather ungracefully. Staldar pushes himself up in one snappy movement.

 

“You're mouthy today, Tosa. I hope your confidence matches your performance. Wouldn’t want to be put in your place by an ‘old man.’”

 

“Ready when you are. I'll even let you define today's terms.”

 

“Very well. Today is all about hand-to-hand combat. No weapons. No armor. No magic. The goal is to pin the other first. Understood?”

 

“Affirmative,” Tosa says with a cheeky smile, shucking his outer clothing and tossing it away. Staldar quickly looks away, hiding a flustered expression, and gets into position to faceoff with the drow.

 

As expected, a handful of onlookers start gathering, giving the two a wide berth. Tara and Alice both watch from the wayside this time, chatting back and forth. A hush falls when Tosa finishes shedding his layers, and turns to face Staldar. They both take up defensive stances, then wait.

 

Tosa makes the first move, darting to the side, but from that distance the movement is clearly telegraphed to Staldar, and he shifts to block the blow. He snatches Tosa’s wrist when he’s just close enough, pulling the dark elf so that his arm and body are forced to twist, his back pressing into the dragonborn’s chest. Staldar easily turns the hold into a more secure grapple, arms tensed like iron bands around Tosa, bearing down on him to stifle his mobility as much as possible. Tosa seems to pause, thinking.

 

“I know you know how to break my hold. Why are you hesitating,” Staldar whispers in his ear.

 

“Maybe I don’t want to break your hold.”

 

But Tosa drops his weight, and Staldar is forced to follow to keep his grip, both bent double on themselves. Then Tosa pushes hard against the ground with his feet, and suddenly Staldar is laid out on his back while Tosa rolls gracefully out of his arms, but quickly moves to try and pin Staldar, using his weight to hold the dragonborn’s wrists and body down. Staldar is forced to ignore the spark of kindling desire he feels as Tosa grins down at him.

 

“Check.”

 

“Hah,  _ no _ .” Staldar plants his feet on the ground, knees bent, then rolls his hips hard, bucking upwards, dislodging the drow. Tosa tumbles, but finds his footing, and Staldar rolls and jumps back into a defensive stance, ready for Tosa’s next pounce. The drow charges, but Staldar is ready again, and side steps, and pushes Tosa as he passes, sending him reeling from the added momentum for a moment. Staldar tries to use his lack of balance against him, advancing, preparing a blow, but Tosa manages to dodge, then blocks his next hit, parries his next move, and Staldar loses his rhythm, and Tosa begins making jabs, causing Staldar to retreat.

 

“Ugh, are you  _ dancing  _ or  _ fighting _ ?! Get on with it already!” Alice yells from the sidelines, and some of the other onlookers cheer and laugh. Tosa tosses his head back, laughing, and Staldar doesn’t hesitate to exploit the momentary distraction, moving to tackle the drow. Tosa realizes his mistake quickly enough to prepare for the impact, and they both stay upright, Tosa digging his heels into the ground, though it’s a near thing. Tosa’s hands find Staldar’s horns and he tries to shove the dragonborn off balance as Staldar grapples him around his middle. Staldar snorts at the annoying tug on his head, lowering the broad plane of his face against the drow’s chest, changes his grip so he’s holding Tosa by the hips. With a grunt, Staldar throws the drow up and over his head with a great flip, and Tosa’s back hits the ground with a thud. The little crowd emits a series of pained “ooooh”s at the sound.

 

Thoroughly winded by the fall, Tosa rolls over onto his stomach with a long groan. Staldar crouches down in front of him, resting his elbows on his knees.

 

“That all you got?”

 

Tosa raises his head, meeting Staldar’s gaze, and smiles wryly.

 

“Of course not.”

 

Tosa springs forward deftly, sending them both tumbling, and the fight devolves into the two rolling on the ground, twisting, trying to dominate the other. Every time Staldar thinks he has the drow subdued, he uses the dragonborn’s weight against him or snakes out of his grip. But Tosa can’t seem to gain the upper hand while up against Staldar’s brute strength and practised movements.

 

His proximity to Tosa, who has begun to sweat and pant from exertion, has an effect on Staldar. He has to resist licking away the beads that pool along his collar bone, has to bury the more feral thoughts that flit across his mind. From what he can tell, gods, what he can  _ smell _ , Tosa is apparently similarly affected. But Staldar isn’t ready to give up the ghost.

 

“Tired yet? Ready to concede?” Staldar’s voice is gravelly in Tosa’s ear as he tightens his arms around him from behind.

 

“H-hardly. You might be,  _ hff _ , strong, but I’ve got the stamina.”

 

“You know well and good that my stamina is impeccable,” Staldar growls back, punctuating the statement with a roll of his hips. Tosa lets out a sound that Staldar  _ feels  _ more than he hears and the smoulder in his core turns into a flame.

 

Alice curses in infernal before shouting again.

 

“Get a room or somebody pin somebody already, there’s good money on the line here!”

 

Staldar feels heat crawl up his neck, remembering their audience. Tosa just chuckles.

 

“She’s got a point. Draw?”

 

“Mm. For now. I fully expect a rematch.”

 

“You got it. Now, let’s get out of here.”

 

Staldar pulls Tosa up with him, then easily lifts the drow who gives a surprised “oh!” The drow instinctively wraps his legs around Staldar’s waist, locking his ankles, arms coming around his shoulders to find stability as Staldar’s arms support his weight. The smattering of folks watching give a variety of jeers, whistles, and disappointed groans, and are already dispersing to go about the rest of their day. Once assured that Tosa is steady, Staldar begins moving brusquely away from the training area, beelining for Tosa’s quarters. “Ah-ah, hold on, big guy! I can’t just leave all my--”

 

“I got it, I got it, sheesh,” Tara calls back with a shake of her head, moving to pick up all of Tosa’s discarded clothing.

 

“Thank you!” Tosa calls back, before dropping his head onto Staldar’s shoulder with a snicker. “Oh, they’re so mad…”

 

“Let them be mad,” Staldar intones roughly, squeezing Tosa’s thighs with just a hint of claw, causing Tosa to squirm. “You’ve been provoking me incessantly today.” Tosa lets out a quiet hiss at the touch of his claws and curls more closely around Staldar, arms tightening and finding better purchase around his shoulders.

 

“I missed you…” Tosa’s voice goes soft, almost somber, and Staldar’s heart stutters in his chest. Luckily, in that moment, they reach the door to Tosa’s quarters, and Staldar manages to open the door and kick it shut behind him.

 

In a swift motion, Staldar turns to press Tosa’s back into the door, trapping him with his own body against the wood. The dragonborn snakes his tongue out to drag up the drow’s clavicle, his throat, across his jaw, then teases Tosa’s parted lips, and Tosa reciprocates with a broken moan. The drow attempts to writhe, tries to grind against Staldar, but has little room to maneuver. Tosa pulls his head back to look at Staldar with dark, desperate eyes.

 

“To bed, please, take me to bed.”

 

Staldar quickly pulls Tosa from the door and in just two steps reaches the bed, and lowers the drow down onto the sheets, and the drow pulls Staldar down to him, arching up. Staldar licks his way down the drow’s body, flattening his broad, rough tongue against one nipple, taking pleasure in Tosa’s reaction. Tosa discovered in their more amorous pursuits that Staldar was utterly fascinated by his chest, quick to exploit the sensitive anatomy, having no real equivalent of his own. The closest Tosa had been able to find, as far as sensitive spots, was a soft (well, soft for a dragonborn) patch of skin between Staldar’s throat and jaw, when he kissed, licked, leant his face into this spot, Staldar’s head would fall back slowly, his breaths would become shallow, and he’d go very quiet and still, as though baring his throat to the drow. Tosa could see many sides to the reserved dragonborn in these situations. He could tell there was a hunger in him, something more animalistic just under the surface, predatory-- something that wanted to take for itself. But with just a few words, a kiss, a look, Staldar would become pliant, gentle, a lover who is adamant that giving pleasure is far more satisfying than receiving.

 

Tosa wants to know the other side.

 

“Staldar, stop for,  _ a-ah _ , just one moment, please!” Staldar obeys, pulling back, looking curiously into Tosa’s eyes. Tosa reaches a hand up, pulling Staldar’s face down close to his own, pressing his lips gently to Staldar’s nose before smiling up at him. “I want you to take me. Fuck me. Please,” he whispers.

 

He feels Staldar go a little tense against him, looking down with a very intense expression.

 

“I… are you… certain?”

 

“Yes. I’m certain. Of course, I’ll always understand if you don’t want--”

 

“No! I mean to say, I… I want this as well. With you. I want…”

 

“Tell me.”

 

“I want you to tell me what to do. I’m-- I don’t know how best to...”

 

“Well, first, I’d prefer if we were both naked, wouldn’t you?”

 

Staldar’s hands are on the laces of Tosa’s pants instantly, tugging them loose rather aggressively, before practically ripping the offending garment from the dark elf’s long legs. Tosa moves to do the same with Staldar’s breeches, pulling at the strings and pushing them down the dragonborn’s thighs, but Staldar distracts him with a flick of his tongue on the drow’s lips and a grind of his hips, pressing their freed members together. Tosa gasps and returns the messy kiss, scrabbling for purchase on Staldar’s back in attempt to pull him even closer. Staldar groans, indulging momentarily in simply rocking against Tosa, rutting slow and steady, pulling sweet sounds from the drow. Staldar imagines taking Tosa over the edge, just like this, spilling on his own chest and stomach, and oh, how pleasant that could be, but instead he pulls away, detangling from Tosa’s hold on him.

 

“How do I do this without hurting you?”

 

Normally that might draw a chuckle from the drow, but he knows how serious Staldar is being. The dragonborn is always so cautious, so afraid of accidentally injuring him, especially in intimate moments.

 

“I’ll, uh, need to prepare a bit. I have some oil, under the bed.”

 

Staldar handily reaches under, feeling about until he grasps a little vial, which he hands to Tosa. The viscous liquid inside is a very appealing amber color, and as Tosa uncorks the bottle, a familiar aromatic scent wafts up from the oil. Staldar realizes he has smelled this scent on Tosa before. Many times, in fact. The thought makes him a little dizzy, imagining Tosa using the oil alone, pleasuring himself in private, then going about his day.

 

Staldar watches hungrily, hovering, while Tosa slicks a few fingers with the oil, spreading his legs and arching to reach down, and then  _ in _ , and Tosa makes a face and a sound that Staldar wants to sear into his memory. Tosa’s half-lidded eyes flick back to him and he smirks.

 

“Well? Are you going to watch, or are you going to touch me?”

 

Staldar jerks into motion, placing his hands behind either of Tosa’s knees, squeezing the soft, sensitive skin there, and presses forward to lick into Tosa’s mouth once again. Hands busy, Tosa can’t latch onto Staldar as he normally would, but he cranes his neck, curling forward to meet Staldar’s mouth with this own, a wanton moan reverberating in his chest. Staldar can feel Tosa’s hand getting into a rhythm beneath him, and so matches it, frotting against the drow’s now dripping shaft, thrusting his tongue in and out of his parted lips. Tosa lets out another debauched moan, chasing Staldar’s tongue with his own. A thought suddenly occurs to Staldar, a heady thought, and a hot pulse of desire prompts him to pull away with a growl.

 

“I wish to try something,” he pants, locking eyes with Tosa. Tosa falls back onto the bedding, also panting.

 

“O-oh? Do tell.”

 

“I think I’d rather show.”

 

“Hah, that also works.”

 

As Tosa relaxes into the sheets, Staldar reaches to gently grasp the wrist of the hand still stretching that tender orifice. Tosa hums softly at the removal, making a curious face, but doesn’t resist. Staldar lifts the oil and sweat slicked digits to his face and licks experimentally, and Tosa brings his free hand up to his mouth, suddenly looking flustered. “Oh, gods, Staldar, that’s…!” Staldar lets out a low rumble, continuing to lave at the long fingers until they are free of the pleasant smelling, but tasteless oil. Once finished with this task, Staldar releases Tosa’s hand, and begins to shuffle off of the bed, to the drow’s dismay.

 

“A-ah, where are you--  _ oh! _ ” Tosa lets out a sound of surprise as Staldar pulls the drow’s hips to the edge of the bed with him, dragging Tosa across the rumpled sheets. Staldar chuckles, deep and quiet, settling onto his knees between Tosa’s legs, slender limbs now akimbo. Tosa starts to lean up on his elbows, curious about Staldar’s actions, but Staldar’s warm, rough hands find their way back up his thighs, and then Tosa feels a hot, wet drag against his ass and he collapses against the mattress once more, crying out. “Oh,  _ fuck, _ ” and then what Staldar can only guess are curses in Undercommon.

 

Staldar continues his explorations, not penetrating like he’d seen Tosa do with his fingers, only testing the waters. Still, Tosa squirms and gasps with every flick, every lap, and Staldar relishes every little sound, every twitch, his senses so full of Tosa that there’s no room left for anything else, and it feels perfect.

 

Staldar then presses his nose to the soft, fleshy spot between his bollocks and hole, pushing his tongue in slowly, very slowly, and Tosa makes a sound like he may die right there and then. Pleased with that reaction, Staldar well and truly begins to fuck the drow with his tongue, prodding as far as he can, curling the tip to rub against the slick, pulsing walls. He does this for a bit, reaching a little deeper, pushing a little harder, when Tosa arches hard, shuddering, one hand flying to the base of his cock, the other shoving Staldar’s nose away. “Oh,  _ Gods _ , stop, Staldar, I almost--  _ fuck _ , I could have come just like that,” he gasps out.

 

Hearing this reignites that hungry, desperate feeling in Staldar, and he pounces forward, hands roaming all over Tosa’s body, his chest, his arms, combing through his ivory locks. He buries his nose in the juncture between Tosa’s shoulder and throat, and rumbles in throaty draconic.

 

“ _I_ _want to make you feel good, want to take you, give you so much pleasure, please, please--_!”

 

Tosa gives a hushing, gentling sound, one hand searching the sheets for the little vial of oil, the other stroking over the ridges of the dragonborn’s brow.

 

“Yes, yes, let me do one last thing, one last little thing-- ah, here it is.” Tosa uncorks the little bottle again, coating a palm before reaching down and taking Staldar’s length in hand, stroking a few times. Staldar chokes on a groan at the sensation, fighting the urge to thrust into Tosa’s hand. He’s already so worked up, a little too on edge, as though anything could set him off if he isn’t careful.

 

Tosa removes his hand, satisfied, and whispers coyly to Staldar.

 

“I’m all yours…”

 

Staldar pulls back to shift into place, lining his body up with Tosa’s, but hesitates for just a moment, and Tosa takes notice. “Staldar?”

 

“... Tell me you want this.”

 

“Gods, yes, Staldar, I want this, want all of you, wa--  _ aah--! _ ” As the words come out of his mouth, Staldar presses forward, and there’s a half second of resistance, then he just  _ slides _ , and Tosa gasps and clenches around him. He stops, overwhelmed for a moment, so hot, so tight, Tosa’s long legs wrapped around him, Tosa watching him with his warm gaze. His heart beats so hard against the inside of his chest he fears it will leap right out of the cage of his ribs, landing right in Tosa’s lap.

 

But a deep breath clears his head a little, and he keeps inching forward. He makes it to the swollen knob that forms the base of his shaft, afraid to push any further. Tosa reaches out, pulling Staldar down to himself, kissing his face, running his hands over his chest, down his back. Staldar lets himself be guided, nuzzles into the crook of Tosa’s neck, unable to hide how hard he’s already breathing, his pounding heart, the slight tremble in his arms and legs from holding himself up. But he’s determined to keep his word, wants to watch Tosa come apart around him, so he tries thrusting once, twice, shallowly. The reaction is pretty immediate, Tosa groans and holds on a little tighter.

 

“ _ Oh _ , yes, please, Staldar, don’t-- don’t stop,” Tosa whines, writhing in an effort to get more friction. Staldar does as he’s told, setting a slow, even pace, and a rumble wells deep in his throat at the pleasure that unfurls in him. Tosa attempts to meet the thrusts with his own movements, but has no real leverage under Staldar. As much as he’d love the slow, tender love-making, right now he’s pent up and aching for something different.

 

“That,  _ ahh _ , all you got?” Tosa’s voice is teasing, sing-song, throwing Staldar’s own words back at him. This obvious taunt gives Staldar pause, and he raises up onto his knees, still buried in Tosa. He watches the drow for a moment, takes in his smirk, tousled hair, stretched out like the cat that got the cream. He snorts out a short laugh.

 

“Such insolence.” He takes Tosa by the hips and pulls the drow farther onto his cock, grinding his own hips at the same time, and Tosa curses, gasps, throws his head back, breathing out an “oh,  _ fuck _ , yes, there,  _ there _ \--!” Despite the cajoling, Staldar’s not going to refuse Tosa what he wants. Staldar begins to thrust again, harder, faster, grunting from the exertion, trying to suppress the shudder that crawls up his spine. Tosa, now not so trapped under Staldar, pushes back against him, grasping at the sheets, practically crying out with every impact of Staldar’s rutting.

 

Staldar gets lost in the motion, in the sounds Tosa is making, in the heat that seems to be consuming him from the inside out. Already that now familiar coil of pleasure is building, but if the twitching and dripping of Tosa’s own member is anything to go by, then the drow is also on the edge. In fact, Tosa’s hand creeps down to take his prick in hand, and he jerks a few times, sighing. Something about this incenses Staldar and he growls, grabbing his wrists and pinning the hands above Tosa’s head. Tosa whines and writhes, pleading softly, “oh, please, please, let me, I--!”

 

“You,  _ hah _ , said you could come from this alone,” Staldar rasps. Tosa bites his lip and nods, shaking. Staldar leans down and speaks into Tosa’s ear in gravelly draconic. “ _ You come by my hand, or not at all.” _

 

That said, Staldar finds it in himself to pound harder, faster, fucking the drow with true urgency and intensity now. Tosa keens, digging his heels into the small of Staldar’s back, squeezing back against Staldar’s weathered hands. He starts to babble in Undercommon, then realizes Staldar can’t understand his pleas, switching over to Common.

 

“Please, please, don’t hold back, don’t hold--  _ aah _ \-- anything back, not from me, not anymore, oh,  _ Staldar _ ,  _ ah, ah, ah--! _ ”

 

“ _ Tosa _ ,” Staldar gasps, overwrought, hips pistoning, his fingers threading with Tosa’s, he thrusts hard, once, twice, and the widest part of him is suddenly squeezed tight by Tosa’s body, buried to the hilt, their bodies flush together. Tosa jerks hard against him, shuddering, arches off the bed and spills down his chest, keening. Staldar follows right behind, bent double over Tosa’s quaking body, pulsing, white-hot pleasure spearing him, and he’s coming and  _ coming and coming _ . Finally the wave seems to crest and break, and it’s like a string has been cut and he has to stop himself from falling forward and crushing Tosa, who lies boneless against the bedding, chest heaving. Staldar pants like a racehorse, trembling, when Tosa looks up with pleased, glazed eyes and his expression shifts to concern.

 

“Gods, Staldar, you’re crying, are you alright? What’s wrong?” The drow reaches out to touch Staldar’s face, and then Staldar actually feels the hot tears streaming down his nose. He swallows hard, clears his throat as best he can, trying to compose himself, but he’s admittedly shaken.

 

“Nothing’s wrong, forgive me, I just… I,”  _ love you,  _ “missed you, too,” Staldar croaks. Tosa smiles at that, leaning up to press a chaste kiss into Staldar’s nose, stroking the dragonborn’s face softly.

 

“Hold me? At least until this inevitably becomes uncomfortable, anyways.”

 

“Of course. Always.”

 

The last of his tears dashed away, Staldar settles in behind the drow, heart beating loud at Tosa’s back, the dragonborn’s palm resting over Tosa’s heart.

 

Before long their beats matched one another, pulsing in unity.

  
  


Later, when they finally get up, clean themselves off, redress, they find a box in Tosa’s ‘office’ full of his things and a small square of parchment that just reads ‘you’re welcome.’

  
  



End file.
